


Come Closer

by ndnickerson



Series: Red Label [11]
Category: Nancy Drew - Keene
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned comes home after a rough day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wisteria_'s Porn Battle, for the prompt "trauma."

He comes in humming something under his breath, but it isn't a happy song. He's in his suit and tie and he has his leather portfolio, the one that always has so many papers inside that it's threatening to burst, and there is something that comes in with him, that she can feel in the air, something that runs light cool fingers under her breasts, over her belly.

"How was work?" She keeps her gaze off him and he snorts in reply because the entire city knows how work was. A woman dressed in a trenchcoat had stabbed four people on a train car that morning and walked out at the next stop, slipping away in the confusion. A crazy woman in a black bloodstained trenchcoat. All the footage was grainy and two of the victims had died in the hospital and the composite sketch was vague enough to be any woman between the ages of twenty and fifty.

"We know who she is."

Ned is sorting through his portfolio and those light cool fingers are back, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck as she watches him pull a photocopied APB out. His notebook pages are full and curling with the weight of the ink. The sun is gone vivid and glaring as it sets, painting an orange bar across their kitchen table, touching the black-and-white woman's hair in gold. Nancy moves behind him, her palms resting lightly on his shoulders as she studies the sparse notes, all the questions, all the blanks they have yet to fill in.

"You know who she is."

He nods, circling her wrists with his fingers and pulling her forward until she can clasp her hands together, under his chin. "We don't know where, and we don't know why."

She puts her face against his hair and breathes him in, the stale-coffee smell of the station house, the gritty smell of the outdoors. "Does it matter," she murmurs into his scalp. "Does it matter why."

"No."

She tugs at his jacket and he shrugs out of it, and she kneads his tense shoulders under her hands. At first he keeps shuffling through his case notes but they both know it's pointless. She walks her knuckles against his neck and he sighs.

"Why do I do this," he murmurs.

She knows the answer but he isn't asking for it, not really; he will always have that Chicago Police Department uniform in their closet and he will always be the kind of man who will sort through what is left behind once the bodies are broken and the blood spilled, to find the answer, to make it right. She made him this way. Her love made him this way.

She looses the first two buttons of his shirt and slides her hands under the fabric, and the brush of her nail against his undershirt turns his nipple to a point. She kisses him just under his ear, slowly, and he sighs again. This would not make her forget, not really, but he has not been like this in months, and she wants to give him this.

When he gently pushes her away and stands, she takes a step back, unsure. The dying sunlight catches in his hair, touches the planes of his chest as he takes his shirt off, his undershirt, his father's gold watch.

"I can't get inside her head. I can't."

Nancy nods mutely and takes her own shirt off, and desire touches the pain and grief in his brown eyes, and those cool fingers reach through her bones and tell her where he wants her.

She comes closer, then, traces the line of his jaw, glances her thumbs over his cheekbones, the full curve of his lips; she watches his eyes until the moment their mouths meet, and her knees go weak at the trace of his palms against the small of her back, the way his large hands span her waist and urge her to him.

"Now," he orders when they break apart, and she gasps in shock when he bites her neck just hard enough to mark her. She puts her hand against his shoulder and shoves him back, then trails her fingers down to his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He only cares that she's wet and that's the only reason he doesn't fuck her immediately. He takes her bra off and tosses it in the direction of the hamper. and before it hits the floor he's stroking her nipples to tight points, he's nuzzling against her neck with his day's growth of beard that would bring her to screaming orgasm if he rubbed it against her clit. When he's naked and when she has her arms around his shoulders, he trails his fingers down over her hips, across the planes of her inner thighs. His eyes are distant when he slides his index finger inside her, and she arches and tugs him down to her impatiently, wrapping her legs around his waist, panting against his collarbone.

He isn't slow and he isn't gentle. She closes her eyes and digs her nails into his skin, a small shocked sound deep in her throat as she feels him part her roughly, feels the pull as she yields to his thrust. She is tight, and as she gasps in another breath with her eyes screwed shut he slides until the length of his cock is sheathed inside her, and there he holds, his hips tight against her spread thighs. She trembles a little, her heartbeat making the ache of his penetration pulse inside her, as he holds so still. She can feel his heart. She can feel all of him, because they are one, she's wrapped around him like she's the one who is drowning and he kisses her high on her forehead before he pulls back.

From then he doesn't stop and she keeps her legs locked around his waist, arching to meet him as he fucks her, panting, and she's so wet that by the third thrust he is smooth and seamless and the buck of her hips when he's half out of her makes her shiver with the sheer raw pleasure of it. He digs his fingers hard into her ass, shifting her against him with his next thrust, angling her and she shudders, moaning his name, writhing against his grip.

He rocks into her again, again, with a sudden savage violence, and she digs her nails into his shoulders to force him down to her and bites him hard, teeth sinking into his flesh. She unlocks her ankles and plants her heels against the bed, meeting his next thrust with such force that he gasps and gropes for her, pinning her hands over her head, pinching her nipple in retaliation as his cock slides wet and hard inside her.

He shivers when he comes, as she arches and twists under him, straining to break free, helpless to resist him as he pins her open under the push of his hips, the insistence of his weight. He groans and she goes limp as she feels him pulse inside her, as she tightens and draws him in, the shivering thread of her tenuous orgasm slowing with every pounded beat of her heart.

Then his fingers are sliding between them, wriggling between the press of their sweat-damp skin, and when his thumb finds her clit her shoulders stiffen and she jerks up underneath him, until her breasts are pressed against his chest. He strokes it from underneath, flicking the button of her clit away from his cock as she squirms against him again, panting as she tilts her hips up and finds the angle and oh God, oh God, she trembles and thrusts up, fucking him as he traces quick circles over her clit.

By the time she comes her knees are fallen open and her head is tilted so far back, her neck bared, that all she can see is the headboard, her mouth dry from gasping his name, and she whimpers when he pulls out, all of him spent and still tingling along her every nerve. She brings her chin down to look at him, and their room is a shade of grey above the dark, all the color washed out of him as he gazes down at her.

"Thanks," he says, his voice rough.

She blinks once and reaches up with her legs still spread wide and pulls him down to her, pulls his head down to rest against her breasts, and strokes his hair as his arms come around her.

"You're all right," she whispers, feeling the barest brush of his lips over her skin. "It's all right."

He smiles. "Only because of you."


End file.
